Oh, Those Places I Always Meant to Go
by i'llchangeitlater
Summary: It takes Snape a while to learn that she's not just a muted mirror of what could have been. Snape/ Lily, AU
1. Revive (breathe with new lungs)

I obviously own none of this; it's all J.K Rowling's. Not for profit.

Dying, Severus Snape learns, is easy.

It is an effortless action of closing the eyes and submitting to the blackness.

Simple.

It is the waking up that is hard. (The dark gets so, so comfortable.)

He sighs, a long and irritated sound. Well then. No point in putting this off; he has always despised procrastination.

His eyes snap open, and they are greeted with the sight of lukewarm gray light, the type of thin-blooded sunshine found only in England.

"Where am I?" he growls. To his surprise, the sound emitted from his throat is high, as if still untouched by puberty.

"Aren't you a charmer when you wake up," a girlish voice retorts. His heart stills. Sentimental it may be, but he knows that voice anywhere.

"Lily?" he asks, voice soft. (Can't be.)

His head turns. A pretty ginger girl regards him with slit eyes, mouth turned up at the corners, as if she finds the situation unbearably entertaining.

"No," she says, voice laced with laughter. "I'm Salazar Slytherin."

Snape pulls himself upright. The scars on his leg (from that blasted three headed dog) don't twinge; the perpetual crackling of his spine is suspiciously absent. He feels…almost young again.

He looks past Lily, and notes the sweeping English countryside chugging by. Oh. There're on a train. His fingers brush across achingly familiar fabric. He's only encountered such fabric on the seats on just one train-the Hogwarts Express.

In the corner of his eye, he catches a glimpse of his reflection. Dark, surprisingly clear eyes. Sallow skin. Nose beginning to form a hook. Unlined mouth not yet pressed into a single, hardened line.

His face is utterly untouched by age. He looks eleven again.

"Whatcha looking at?" asks Lily (impossible; Lily's body double, surely).

"Nothing," he replies shortly. The girl scrunches her freckled nose, adorably, and any doubt about her identity erased.

"Did Harry Potter defeat Voldemort?" The words tumble out of Snape's mouth on their own accord. After all, Lily appears to be eleven as well. What would she know?

The nose scrunches again, and her brow becomes a mountain range of confusion. "Voldemort? Who's Voldemort?"

(Impossible yet again. Voldemort has been around for as long as Snape can remember.)

He sighs once more, this one markedly less aggravated. Why not go along with it, this brave new world, in which Voldemort seems to not exist? Why not consider it good luck?

He knows how to take a stroke of good luck and run. "No one…just a character from a book I read." (He dislikes how soft the edges of his voice are, and how she always seems to do this to him.)

Her lips quirk up at the corners. "Yeah? What book-"

She is cut off when the door to their compartment opens and a smiling, round woman pushes in her cart laden with food.

Lily's smile becomes mischievous, filling his stomach with both apprehension and excitement.

"Anything you want, dears?" the woman asks.

Lily brandishes a pouch full of money. "Give me everything."


	2. Defy (tear down the past)

"Severus Snape!" Professor Bones calls. (She's the same as Snape remembers: pretty, kittenish, and utterly terrifying.)

Snape's legs are shaking. Perhaps it is because he has just watched Evans, Lily be sent to Gryffindor with an ebullient smile. (Her teeth are curved exactly the way he remembers, and that grin manages to seep into his skin and tear apart the flesh underneath.)

He stumbles to the stool and plops down less than elegantly. The Sorting Hat droops over his eyes (too much like the darkness he has just escaped.)

_Well, well_, the Sorting Hat mutters, almost derisively. _Let's see. Ah, brave_. On the last syllable, anything mocking drains away from its small voice. It does not say anything more.

They sit there, in silence, for a minute.

_Are you going to Sort me now? _Snape asks, irritation beneath his voice.

The words that trickle from the Sorting Hat's fabric mouth seem carefully considered. _You know, sometimes I think we Sort too soon…_

Snape is glad that the Hat wilts over his brow now. Maybe he can keep the sudden moisture in his eyes hidden.

_Well?_ Snape inquires again.

For just a heartbeat more, all is quiet.

Then the Sorting Hat says, with more gravity than a hat could possibly muster, "GRYFFINDOR."


	3. Fade (when all else fails)

Snape's life is beginning to fade from him.

Only in the smallest hours of the night can he believe that once upon a time, he bled to his death on a fading wall, life oozing out of him in the shape of snake fangs. Only in the smallest hours of the night does the word _Voldemort _carry any connotation. Only in the smallest hours of the night does he remember the name Harry Potter.

In the daytime, he sheds it as easily as a snake discards dull skin. In the daytime, he's eleven, and his best friend is Lily Evans. In the daytime, his favorite class is Defense Against the Dark Arts, and Professor Bones (formidable witch and Potions master) terrifies him (her eyes are metal and melted at the corners.)

At dusk, he is apprehensive. At dusk, sometimes the tail end of memory sweeps through him; sometimes he's still an eleven-year-old. At dusk, he knows something (something big, he feels) is vanishing, and he would try to cling on, if only he knew _how_.

One dusk it completely evaporates.

He lets it happen.


	4. Christmas

For Christmas, Snape stays in Hogwarts, and Lily goes home. They write each other.

* * *

_Dear Lily,_

_Oi. Here's the book you wanted._

_-Severus_

_P.S. You can name the owl. She flew into my dorm two days ago. She likes eggnog._

* * *

_Dear Sev,_

_You really ought__ to learn how to write letters. You have to ask about the weather, if I'm enjoying Christmas break, and what I'm doing. Then I ask you the same things. Your owl's quite feisty! I named her Princess. While she might like eggnog, she loves Christmas pudding. Also, she only drinks Earl Grey._

_The weather here's quite good for England. We haven't had too much snow. Petunia started dating this arse two weeks ago. She says I can't tell mum, so I'm telling you. He's in her grade and the class president or something. He's clever, but the biggest bum you'll ever meet._

_Other than that, Christmas's been delightful. I got a hamster! Her name is Kaz; she gets along splendidly with Princess. Have you ever tried to make a snow angel? It's a 'muggle' thing. You lie down in the snow and make wings._

_Thanks for the book! How'd you remember? I mentioned it two months ago!_

_Cheers, Lily._

* * *

_Dear Lily,_

_The weather here is awful. It's been storming for weeks._

_Why'd you name her Princess? She is indeed quite feisty. She made a nest of out my books and defended it with an admirable ferocity._

_Put a hex on Petunia's bloke. Or at least scare him._

_That would explain why Princess never ate the hamsters I tried to feed her._

_No, I've never made a snow angel. How in Merlin's name do you make wings out of snow?_

_I drink Earl Grey too. They say it boosts the memory._

_-Severus_

* * *

_Dear Sev,_

_I give your letter an Acceptable. Not quite an Exceeds Expectations. You have to sound excited to be writing to me!_

_I named her Princess because she's so...princessy. Have you ever tried to feed her carrots? She just stares at you snobbishly! As if she's royalty or something. _

_I can't put a hex on Petunia's bloke. Didn't you get that letter saying no magic outside of school? But he is such an arse! He referred to me as 'Petunia's weird little sister!' Can you believe that bum? So I told threatened him. I was quite frightening! But then Petunia and I had a row, so it wasn't worth it._

_You're kidding. How would you get a hamster into Hogwarts? Why would you try to feed it to an owl? You're rubbish at lying, Sev._

_Making wings out of snow's really easy! You pay down, flap your arms around and whatnot._

_I have never seen you drinking Earl Grey._

_Cheers, Lily._

_P.S. You can't just end your letters with 'Severus' you know._

* * *

_Dear Lily,_

_So that means my letter gets a passing grade, yes?_

_I don't think 'princessy' is a word. I have never tried to feed her carrots because she's an...owl. Owls are typically carnivorous, you know. _

_Never got that letter._

_What'd you say to him that was threatening? He sounds like quite an arse though._

_I have my ways. Hamsters are surprisingly common. But you're right. I never tried to feed the owl._

_I made a snow angel. It did not look remotely like an angel. You'll have to tell me more when you get back._

_I drink Earl Grey when you're not around._

_Cheers, Severus._


	5. Fall (going, going, gone)

Snape falls in love at age eleven (and a half. The half is very important to him.)

It is not one of the most romantic events to occur in history.

For one, he's doing homework. (An assignment that will be due in exactly two weeks.) However, the weather is perfect for falling in love—it's spring, but there's still a quick shine of ice on the ground, and the air retains the quicksilver bite of winter.

This is how it happens: he's scribbling furiously (the paper is for Potions) and ink is flicked onto his scarf. He sighs, and moves to scrub at it, but the darkness has settled itself permanently into the maroon-and-gold striped cloth.

No metaphors linking stains and love or fabric and hearts are drawn, because he's eleven and a half. (And not exactly in the possession of a sentimental soul.) Instead, he regards the ink-flecked end of his scarf, and notes just how dirty it is.

The fringe is dappled with pumpkin juice (he remembers Lily was gesturing wildly, and somehow managed to smack his bottle), and the first golden stripe is speckled with split-pea soup. (Lily told a joke, and Frank Longbottom laughed so hard that he flung his soup-coated spoon at Alice. Alice did not find this even mildly amusing, and splashed Frank in retaliation, showing no mercy to those caught in the cross hairs. This leads Snape to believe that he will one day attend the wedding of Frank and Alice Longbottom.)

Snape comes to the conclusion that his scarf could with a washing because Lily is funny and clumsy. His brow furrows. That's not quite right. His scarf could do with a washing because his pulse thumps at an uneven beat when she appears, weighing down the edges of his fingertips (until they are heavy and clumsy and capable only of spattering himself with the nearest liquid.) His scarf could do with a washing because the blood pumps through his veins at a precarious rate when he catches a glimpse of red out of the corner of his eye.

He frowns, and begins to piece it together. The sudden arrhythmia, the sudden acceleration in his aorta, the way her smile fills the space underneath his ribcage-

Oh. He gets it. He's in love.

He's been in love with her for ages, now.


	6. Shadow (of what was)

Snape does not properly have a conversation with James Potter until the end of his first year.

"He stopped by on the train," Lily tells him. "But you were asleep. Be grateful you were," (she says this with her nose scrunched up.)

"Why?" he asks her.

Lily's lip curls a bit, and she says, "He's such a bigheaded prick! He's always going on and on about how great he is at Quidditch, and how he's going to be an amazing Chaser and all that. He was pretty good with the broomsticks, I suppose—you were sick, you weren't there. But Remus's really nice, and Sirius is tolerable, I guess."

They're in the same House, but Snape rarely finds reason to speak with him. The extent to most of their previous interactions have been 'hand me the butter, Snape.'

But towards the end of his first year, Potter saunters up, and for some reason, this fills the pit of Snape's stomach with dread.

"Oi!" Potter calls, shrewd eyes sizing Snape up.

Snape pulls away. For some reason, the sight of messy black hair puts his teeth on edge.

"Oi," Snape responds stiffly.

"So you're friends with Evans, yeah?" Potter leans on the nearest available surface, a supercilious smile hooking the ends of his mouth.

The arrogance comes off of him in waves. Goodness, he really is a bigheaded prick. "Yes," Snape replies.

Potter cocks his head. "She's really pretty," he says, but there is a dark undertone of something that Snape doesn't quite like.

"She is," Snape retorts, drawing himself to his fullest height. (He's still much shorter than Potter, but it's better than before.)

"You're a Gryffindor then?" Potter's eyes haven't lost their calculating glint.

Snape blinks at him. Slowly, he gestures to the Gryffindor scarf wrapped around his neck. "No," he says, voice just a shade too derisive, "I'm a Hufflepuff."

Potter's smile softens at the corners, but his eyes remain narrow and frigid. He lets out a bark of a laugh, as if to say _touché_.

"Well, I'll see you around," Potter says, spinning on his heel.

Snape frowns. (No you won't.)


	7. Wallow (what other choice do you have?)

The summer after Snape's first year at Hogwarts is...bittersweet.

One day Lily ambles into his home bearing a muggle thing called popsicles (she refuses to tell him how she got in or how she found him or how she even _got here_) and hands him one. He's surprised: too often, both his mother and father are conspicuously absent. Her sudden presence reminds him how it feels to not be utterly alone.

She plops down on an overstuffed armchair and refuses to say anything, really. Eventually, she works her way upside down, so that her feet rest at the top and her hair dangles to the ground in a rush of scarlet.

He settles down on the floor next to her. It's silent, but it's enough (of course it's enough-he's studying the way the freckles across her nose are like stars pressed into her skin, and the taste of Popsicle is cold and fresh on the roof of his mouth.)

However, he speaks. "Why are you here?" He asks softly (rolling the _r's _like rocks up a hill.)

She sighs. "Petunia's being a prat," she murmurs, and there is too much moisture in her eyes.

He waits. She continues. "I tried to show her the stuff we learned, but she called it frogspawn. She's being so mean. I tried to apologise; I was being a prat too before I left, but she wouldn't accept it. Oh, and she's dating a new guy. He's an arse too, and dreadfully dull."

Snape doesn't know what to say. So instead he just squeezes her hand in reassurance, allowing the words hidden in the lines and creases of his palms speak for themselves. (Though he can't shake the feeling that the message is lost in translation.)

* * *

Another day, Snape sees his mother for the second time that summer. (The first being King Cross's station.)

She's a pale, thin woman, stingily made, as if her creator was running dangerously low on color and bones. Her eyes (dark tunnels) flash with something resembling surprise, as if the sight of her son is something novel.

Snape musters all the cruelty he can, because that is how their interactions go. They both despise each other (it's a truth he has tried to outgrow and she has tried to outrun). She blames him for the dissolution of her marriage; and he is disgusted with her for trying to cling to it.

He opens his mouth to speak. The bitter words stick to his throat, and instead he says, "Hello, mum." And he thinks _be nice to her this lifetime (_a thought that has him inexplicably baffled.)

The shock on her face manages to break his heart. An impressive feat, considering that Snape believed his heart to be hardened over.

"Hello, Severus," she replies hastily. Then she withdraws to her bedroom, and Snape thinks he hears humming.


	8. Float (for once)

Surprisingly, Snape manages to learn over the summer. Twice. Two different lessons, from two completely different professors.

The first is, of course, Lily Evans. He finds her through sheer, utter chance; on the abandoned and pebbly beach. (It's England, after all, the water is frigid year round, and no one is particularly eager to take a glorified ice bath.)

The exception being Lily. She's wearing a pink bathing suit, a sparkling unicorn on its front. He approaches her with caution.

It has not escaped his notice that Lily has become more subdued. Nothing drastic, of course, she still asks him if he is a bat, she still constantly spouts witty jokes and comebacks. She's just faded around the edges; she's just not as vivacious as she once was.

"Nice bathing suit," he comments wryly. She whirls on him, eyes sparking, and there she is. The Lily that made his first year both hellish and ruthlessly entertaining is there, in front of him, mouth a sardonic hook.

"This?" She replies, laughter in her gaze. "This is high fashion right here."

He chuckles. "What're you doing on the beach anyway? You're aware that the water'a about... four degrees, yes?"

The corners of her smile make him wary. "I know. Want to get closer?" (No surprises there. Frigid weather never did effect her.)

They approach the foaming edge of the sea, toes sinking into the sand. He bends down to examine a pearly fragment of an iridescent seashell. Behind him, Lily moves off to the side, into a flock of seagulls. From absolutely nowhere, she pulls out piece of bread and flings the pieces into the air.

Snape smiles, and turns back to digging at his seashell. Then, without warning, he is pushed into the ocean, Lily's laughter trailing after him.

For a moment, the world is colored in blue and grey. Then his nerve endings register how cold it is, and his lungs remember the necessity of air. A stream of silver bubbles explodes from his throat, and some how, he is able to scrabble his way to the top.

He surfaces gasping. "Are you mad?!" he shouts, flailing his limbs about in a way that prevents him from sinking. "I can't swim!"

Concern crowds the bottle green of her eyes. "No one taught you how to swim? What type of childhood did you have?"

"I tell you I can't swim while I'm in the _bloody ocean_ and that's your biggest concern?!"

The creases that form on her forehead are the sincerest of apologies. "Sorry, Sev," she says. (It is more lighthearted than an apology has any right to have.) Her smile turns cheeky, and she adds, (a giggle seeping out of the corner of her mouth) "You know, you look just like a drowning princess right now."

"Thank you, Lily," he says, voice surprisingly dry (given how damp the rest of him is.)

"Anytime, Sev," she replies merrily. Then she shakes back her hair (a gesture that Snape would come to fear) and wades in after him with a precocious grace.

She cuts through the water with lithe, precise strokes, and reaches him in a matter of seconds. Her hair is darkened to an almost brown by the water, and her wide smile warms the inside of his skin.

Pale fingers clench in the sodden fabric of his clothing and begin to drag him towards the shore.

"Goodness Sev," Lily giggles, "you managed to go out far."

Snape sticks his tongue out at her.

They're almost back on land when Lily suddenly halts. "I," she declares, "am going to teach you how to swim."

Snape sighs (long and slow, a bit like dark honey on his tongue.) Lily pointedly ignores this.

"Relax," she says, nose scrunched up. "I'm only going to teach you how to float and all."

(It takes an hour, and Snape manages to catch a cold-in the middle of summer, no less-after, but it's worth it. Lily is not that shabby of a professor. Less terrifying than Bones, less boring than Binns.)

And so Snape learns the art of keeping his head above water.


	9. Drown (in theory)

The second lesson Snape learns begins with a hand on the shoulder.

He's reading _Hogwarts: A History_ (which is far less boring than it is made out it out to be) when a hand clamps down on his shoulder and twists, painfully, reducing his fingers to limp stumps and sending the heavy book flying.

Snape doesn't breathe. Someone's voice trickles into his ear, raspy and defeated yet impossibly malicious. "So you're back."

It's the voice of his father. Snape scrapes up the sarcasm contained in the back of his throat and hisses, "Why, aren't you a _genius_!"

Then there is silence.

If Snape strains his ears, he thinks he can hear his father's livid heartbeat, thudding away in a thin rib cage. Snape turns, and catches a glimpse of his father in the corner of his eye.

He is older than Snape remembers. There's a scratch on his ear (his parents have been fighting again) and the strain of a souring marriage and a spiteful child are marked in the wrinkles of his face. The despair of living with perceived monsters trembles in his withered fingers; the guilt of fearing (and, as a result, hating) both his wife and his offspring reveals itself in the wine-stained front of his baggy shirt.

For a moment (just a moment) Snape feels pity.

Then his father is spurred into action, a wild strength encompassing his wasted limbs. "Wizard scum!" he shouts, and suddenly his hands are around Snape's shoulders. Then Snape is dragged to the bathroom (he's limp in his father's grasp. After all, he has become so accustomed to instilling fear in this pathetic creature he calls 'father' that the gravity of the situation never occurs to him.)

All the while, expletives spill from his father's lips (stupid bloody brat who do you think pays rent who do you think supports this family how dare you who do you think you bloody are.)

In fact, they're kneeling next to the bathtub, watching it fill up when Snape realizes what's happening. By then it's too late.

His father-still in possession of that animal strength-picks Snape up, by the shoulders, and swings him up with such ease that he feels weightless. And, in that second, he remembers that he's eleven and scrawny and made more of bones than flesh.

Snape begins to flail, feeling numbed horror, but he's thrust into the water. It's cold, so cold, colder than the ocean, and the need to live suddenly grips him by the throat. He flounders, bubbles exploding from his nose and mouth in all directions, trying his best not to inhale the frigid water. He turns his head, gasping (maybe a death rattle) when his fingers clench in the baggy front of his father's shirt.

He grips it tightly, pulling himself up as his father pushes him down, holding it so tightly that the downward pressure momentarily lifts. Snape sees the chance, and he runs with it.

His head explodes out of the water, and he doesn't know why, but he screams out "_Sectumsempra_!" (The word has been stuck on the roof of his mouth for days.)

Snape doesn't know what happens next. One moment, his father is watching him with dark, narrowed eyes, the next, all Snape can see are the whites around the irises.

Then, his father falls back-

and he grunts-

and there's blood _everywhere_.

Snape climbs out of the bathtub, gasping, sodden. He feels like he's aged five years in the space of a minute.

He glances down at the pool of blood his father lays in. He steps around (being careful not to get his socks any more dirty than they are.)

_Well_, he muses. _That was certainly an educating experience. _

He's learned to sink, among other things.


	10. Cope (all lonely monsters do)

Knockturn Alley is a dreadful place. Especially in the end of summer. Molded decisively by the Dark Arts (the art of getting blood on your hands), it reminds Snape forcefully of a dragon's coop (a coup d'état.)

Then again, it's the only place where (ferociously used) school books are sold for a knut, and the only place where whispers do not trail after him (I heard his father tried to drown him) (his mother's really into the dark stuff) (did you hear she slashed up her _bloody husband_.)

After all, the people here are guilty of far worse.

It used to bother Snape how easily he blended in here; with the pariahs and thieves. Now, though, he's used to it, and drags his feet over the filthy, cobbled floor.

Then a voice calls out, "Snape! Snape!"

Snape turns. Remus stands before him, looking far too haggard for his age. The sickly paleness of his once-brown hair is beginning to fade to grey. He's panting, hands braced on his knees. "What are you doing here?"

Snape tilts his head, studying the face before him. Remus's eyes are also prematurely aged; more closed off and guarded than any twelve year old's should be. It's unsettling (perhaps because when Snape looks in the mirror, an identical expression stares back.) But, as of now, Remus's green eyes are wide open with a guileless suspicion.

"I could ask you the same," Snape replies, and watches watery color flood Remus's pallid face.

"Nothing, really," Remus mumbles, eyes fixed on his cracked old shoes, "just need some ingredients for a potion." He straightens up, hands clasped behind his back.

Snape arches an eyebrow. "What type of potion needs ingredients from this place?" He doesn't even attempt to keep the suspicion out of his voice. There has always been something...curious about Remus. Why was he ill so often? And why always at the end of each month, on the full moon?

Remus suddenly shifts from defensive to righteous. "Hey!" he exclaims. "I asked you first! What are you doing here?"

Snape sighs. Remus waits.

Another sigh climbs from Snape's throat, and wearily, he gestures to the left.

"See that store?" Snape asks (eerily reminiscent of a snake who has severed its own rattle.)

"Madam Greenwich's Possibly Cursed Robes For Less Than A Sickle," Remus reads. "Blimey. Talk about brutally honest."

Snape's mouth quirks up into a half smile. "Some of us need robes for less than a sickle," he says quietly.

"Ah," Remus replies, and shuffles his feet awkwardly. (Too polite to run away.)

Snape exhales again (trying not to turn it into a sigh.) "Well, I'll see you in Hogwarts," he says nicely (because really, how uncomfortable Remus looks is pitiful.)

Remus nods, eyes finally lifting from the ground. "Yeah." He braves a tentative, friendly smile.

They then go their separate ways, both feeling just a touch more reassured. (No child willingly stands alone, and they _are_ children, if only in name.)


	11. Incidents in the Common room (part 1)

It's uncommonly cold the beginning of their second year. Already, the dead leaves that crunch underfoot are laced with veins of ice.

So the students of Hogwarts don mittens and heavy winter robes (Susan Abbot purchases a pair of rather nifty earmuffs.)

Still, the chill manages to occupy the spaces between their bones.

Reprieve is not even found in the Gryffindor Common room (cosy as it may be.) This prompts Lily to march over to his chair and demand that he move over.

"Find your own chair," he grumbles halfheartedly as she burrows into the space next to him.

"This is my chair," she replies, grinning widely. "It's red. It matches my hair. Plus, you're warm."

He sighs as he turns another page in the book he's reading. "According to _Hogwarts: A History, _all furniture in the Common rooms belongs to no one except for the Headmaster.

Lily giggles. "Yeah, right, Sev. You've never read _Hogwarts: A History_. You only read bad fantasy novels."

He smiles (because really, it can't be helped.) "Shut up. Anyway, this chair's _way_ prettier than your hair.

Her mouth gapes open (the corners of her lips turn up) and she mock hits him. Then something catches her attention and she tilts her head.

Suddenly, without warning, she clambers over him, knocking the book out of his hands.

"What are you doing?" he sputters as she perches on the arm of the overstuffed chair.

She whirls around to face him (somehow not falling over in the process) and whispers, "Emer looks sad."

Snape bends over to pick up his book (which happens to be a bad fantasy novel, but he's sure it's a coincidence.) "The Irish girl?"

Her brow furrows and her eyes narrow slightly. "She has a name, you know. Emer Finnigan. I think it's rather pretty."

He sighs, and bats the dust off his book. "Okay, fine. Emer Finnigan looks sad. What are you going to do about it? Play knight in shining armor?"

With dread, he watches her shake back her hair, raise her chin defiantly, and curl her lips into a satisfied smirk. "Exactly.'

* * *

Snape spends his nights in the Common room.

It's not really a choice. The handful of times he has been able to doze off, images composed of green and black and despair (shot through with high-pitched laughter) form on the back of his eyelids, jolting him into wakefulness. (Is it really any wonder that sleep seems to elude him?)

So, to keep from smothering Walter Bell (whose erratic snores are truly spectacular), Snape escapes to the Common room, often with a book.

One such night, Snape is reading in front of the slowly dimming fire when he hears the soft footsteps behind him.

"Snape?" Lily's voice asks, slightly clouded with sleep.

Snape looks up. "Hey," he replies mildly, managing to keep most of the surprise out of his voice.

"What are you doing up?" he asks, putting his book down.

"I could ask you the same," Lily challenges, crossing her arms. (She's a creature made for firelight—her hair is a hurricane around her head, and when she tilts her head at just the perfect angle, her cheekbones drop shadows across her face.)

"I can't sleep," he admits with a sigh.

Lily's mouth softens into sympathetic line. "Yeah. Me neither." And with that, she pads over to his chair and settles into the space next to him.

She catches a glimpse of his book, and dimples appear in her cheeks. "_Hogwarts: A History_? Really? Okay, read me a passage. That ought to put me to sleep."

He laughs, his lungs expanding with the sound of it. "You asked for it."

"Try to read it dramatically."

"Fine. Ahem." He clears his throat, prompting a giggle from her. "Hogwarts: A History," he begins, in a rather affected voice, "By Bathilda Bagshot…"


	12. Incidents in the Common room (part 2)

Snape's first encounter with the Potter Gang (as Lily puts it) occurs in the winter, right before a monstrous exam in Charms.

Some, such as Snape, Lily, and Remus, have studied themselves to exhaustion. Others, such as Sirius and James, worn out from Quidditch practice (they have been bragging about making the team for _ages_) can't be bothered to care.

However, most Gryffindors are caught by surprise, and migrate to the library in slightly panicked droves. Those who have no reason to visit it go there anyway, mostly to shoot adoring glances at the enormously popular Kingsley Shacklebolt

And so the Common room becomes largely abandoned; containing only Snape, Lily, and the Potter Gang. Lily sits in the red overstuffed armchair, arms crossed and glowering, while James dons a satisfied smirk and watches her intently. Sirius kneels by the fireplace, catching wayward sparks on his tongue as Pettigrew gazes on in utter rapture. Remus sits in the corner, half melted into the shadows, and Snape reads, reclined on the floor.

The quiet is thick and heavy, smothering, clinging to the surface of Snape's skin. He clears his throat, and almost expects the sound vanish into the dense silence.

Snape ventures, "I have a chessboard."

Everyone in the room snaps to attention. The atmosphere morphs from stifled to charged and crackling.

After all, this changes everything.

Snape fetches the board, and hands it to Lily.

"Aren't you going to play?" she asks, brows drawn together.

He shrugs. "Don't know how."

A giggle forms on her tongue. "Then why do you have a board?"

"Because it amuses me to torture the pieces," he deadpans. Lily full out laughs at this (as Pettigrew shifts nervously where he sits.) The confused glances James and Sirius exchange are not lost on Snape.

Remus rises to his feet and offers to play with Lily. "I'm quite good," he declares, smiling slightly. Somehow, the statement is completely without arrogance.

James saunters over and slings his arm around Remus's shoulders. "He is," James says, still wearing that conceited half smile.

And so they proceed to play. In quick succession, Lily crushes Remus first and Pettigrew second. It takes a bit longer with Sirius, but she wins in the end. He grins, bows, and says that he always allows beautiful women to win (Lily tells him to knock it off).

Siruis then disappears, with an airy promise to return. When he does come back, he is laden with bottles of pumpkin juice and trays heaped with sandwiches. Snape takes one eagerly (he had forgotten how hungry he was.) Remus, attracted by the food, comes over, stepping on the lid of the chessboard.

He picks the lid up and reads the words scrawled on it in messy letters. "_Sectumsempra_. _Langlock. Muffliato. _Snape, what're these?"

Snape glances up in alarm and snatches the lid away. 'Nothing," he replies, just a touch too harshly. The wrinkles in Remus's forehead deepen, asking countless questions. Snape ignores them all.

Thankfully, no one else seems to notice. They are all too absorbed in the battle between Lily and James (Lily has captured his queen, but in turn sacrificed her bishop and knight. James has resorted to castling.)

Lily eats most Snape's sandwich without him noticing until he almost takes a bite out the empty wrapper. He glares at her with distrust. She grins sweetly back.


	13. Differences (this time he gets it right)

1. "Hey Sev!" Lily plops down in the seat across from him, grinning widely. "Can I ask you a favor?"

Severus places aside his book (a touch reluctantly) and looks up. "Sure. What?"

Lily tucks the hair behind her ears and leans in. "I know you don't really know Alice Longbottom, but could you help me tutor her in Potions? It'd be really helpful. But only if you can do it."

Snape feels his forehead furrow. "Alice Longbottom? Isn't she kind of an useless twit?"

The smile slides off her face, and a spark lights in her eyes. "Did Avery say that?" Her voice is fierce.

Snape can't help but stutter. "Well, maybe, I mean, it's a popular opinion."

Lily springs up, and her eyes practically blaze. "That is _not _a popular opinion, Sev! In case you haven't noticed, Alice is the only _bloody_ one who got a good grade on that Herbology test! Also, she's_ so _much smarter and nicer and more useful than Avery and your little Death Eater friends!" She shakes back her hair and stands up, her face emotionless (save for the disgust gathering in the corners of her eyes.)

Snape sighs. An apology forms on his tongue. "Sorry, Lily. I'll help, I promise. It'd be no problem."

Lily turns, and Snape is struck by the sense of extraordinary distance. His hand lifts at its own accord, but his fingers curl in empty air. In the space of a minute, she has morphed from warm and familiar to a stranger as cold and remote as an unnamed star.

He could try to touch her, he knows, as he withdraws his arm. But she's just out of reach.

"Don't bother," she replies over her shoulder, voice sharp (and eyes sad.)

* * *

1. Snape's sleeping (for once) when a hand shakes him awake.

"Sev," a voice whispers. "Hey, Sev."

Snape grumbles, and stretches his eyes open. "What?" he slurs. "Whadaya want?"

The hand withdraws, and Lily's voice asks, "Can you do me a favor?"

Snape shakes himself into a slightly more alert state. "Yeah, sure. Do you know what time it is?"

There's a pause as Lily checks her watch. "Two."

Snape knuckles his eyes and stretches, yawning. "In the morning?"

Lily chuckles. "Afternoon, Sev. Anyway, could you help me tutor Alice Longbottom? This Tuesday? Only if you're free."

"Tuesday? Aren't you doing something with slugs that day?" Snape's fully awake now, and focuses on Lily's features. She looks slightly tired.

A smile appears on her mouth. "I'm going to a dinner Professor Slughorn arranged, yes."

Snape feels his forehead furrow. "Hey, do you want me to tutor her myself? I know her. Those slug things are a big deal."

The grin that lights up her face is so lovely it actually, physically hurts. "That's so nice! Thanks, Sev. You're really kind."

Later, he looks at himself in the mirror. Out of the blue, he thinks, _so you're kind when you aren't completely alone and despised._ (Why does he think that? Why does something hover on the edge of his memory, like an indecisive guest that lingers in the doorframe of his recollection? What is it? Why is trying to touch it like grasping at smoke?)

He shakes his head. It doesn't matter anyway.


	14. Castling

Sorry about not updating sooner. There's been a lot of tests lately :).

This chapter's slightly awkward.

* * *

Snape's scribbling out the assignment for Potions due tomorrow, unbearably irritated at himself. It is not because of how bloody _easy _the paper is (really, the ten page limit is rather restraining), it's because he procrastinated and he _loathes_ procrastination.

In all his exasperation, he doesn't notice Remus slide into the seat next to him. He spends the next few minutes in complete and utter oblivion until Remus's soft question floats across the air.

"Is that the paper for Potions?"

Snape starts in surprise, and his quill blots a glossy circle of ink into his parchment. "Yeah," he replies, a touch uneasily.

Remus smiles weakly, and somehow, wariness charges the atmosphere. It's silent for a second before Remus leans in and inquires, politely, "Have you heard the rumours going around Knockturn Alley?"

This time, Snape manages to hide his shock. He nods, coldly, and dips his quill in ink as he watches Remus out of the corner of his eye. For all his shy smiles and narrow frame, Remus's gaze is nothing but steel. If being a monster weathers some, it has done nothing but temper Remus.

"Which rumours?" Snape asks.

"The ones about your mother. And how she slashed up her husband with Dark Magic."

Snape is proud of the fact that his hands do not tremble and that his emotionless mask does not slip. "What about them?"

Remus tilts his head slightly. The words that come next are hard and pointed (the type that catch easily on teeth) but they seep out of his mouth easily. "She didn't do it, did she? The words on your chess board—they're Dark Magic."

Snape looks Remus squarely in the eye. Remus wears an expression that is not quite triumph (more of a person that has cautiously called check.)

A smile curls the corner of Snape's mouth (he may be cornered, but he still has an ace up his sleeve.) "I saw you talking to Dolohov. You know, Nikolai Dolohov. The potions shopkeeper in Knochturn Alley. You're a werewolf, aren't you?"

Remus's eyes widen, but only for a second. He retorts quickly, "Look, I don't want you to accidentally hurt someone."

Snape's smile softens into a gentler expression. "Neither do I."

The wariness in the surrounding silence drains away. They're kind of friends now, Snape can feel it.

Snape returns to scribbling furiously, and Remus stands up and walks away.

It's called a draw.


	15. Reveal (it was only a matter of time)

Snape's reading in the Common Room at midnight when the Fat Lady swings open with the sound of muffled chatter.

"It all makes sense!" A voice exclaims (it sounds rather suspiciously like Potter.) "How he's sick every month!"

Snape looks in the direction of the voice, but he sees absolutely nothing. His brow wrinkles in confusion, and he shrinks into his chair. It is better, he decides, to observe and make sense of the situation before doing anything rash.

A high, thin voice inquires, "What do you suppose we do to help? I mean, we gotta help, right?" (This voice is identical to Peter's.)

Immediately, a third, deeper voice asks, "Hey James, didn't you read somewhere that they don't hurt animals? Only humans."

There's a rustling sound, and suddenly Sirius, James and Peter are standing in the common room, their faces glazed with rainwater and their robes coated with mud.

"Yeah, well, what's that got to do with anything?" James responds, a mild layer of irritation under his voice. He's frowning at the silvery cloak he has clutched in his hand, batting at the mud on it in a fruitless attempt at cleaning.

"I think," Snape pipes up, his voice soft and a touch ominous, "that Sirius is suggesting you become Animagi."

Three pairs of eyes whirl on him in an instant, all of them stretched open in shock. Then anger flickers across James's face and he charges over, grabbing the collar of Snape's robes.

"How much," he growls, voice low and crackling with anger, "did you hear?"

Snape sighs. "Don't worry," he says exasperatedly. "I'm smarter than you, you know. I figured it out ages ago."

The fury behind James's eyes just increases, and he gives Snape a small, vicious shake. "What?" he snarls. "What did you figure out, you little greasy slime ball?"

Snape feels his eyes ice over. "Release me," he hisses, voice impossibly frosty. James holds on for a moment more, his fingers clenching white into the dark fabric of the robes before he steps back.

Snape picks up his book with infinite calm before saying, "I know Remus is a werewolf."

At this, Sirius springs forward and James's eyes narrow.

"Don't you dare sell him out," Sirius snarls. "If you do, I will personally rip you to pieces."

"He's our friend," James adds on, with only a modicum more of calm. "We won't let you hurt him."

Snape's lip curls. "Don't you think," he says, "that if I had anything to gain from selling Remus out, I would have done it already?"

This seems to pacify Sirius and James a little, as they straighten out of their defensive stances.

A long moment of silence stretches by before Peter asks, "How'd you find out?"

Snape looks up from his book, dark eyes fixed on Peter's pudgy, slightly quivering frame. "Some things become quite obvious when you're buying potion supplies in Knockturn Alley, and you see someone begging the shopkeeper for something, anything to make it better. Don't you agree?"

Another second of silence trickled by. Then Sirius asked, "What was the name of the shopkeeper? I think I'll have a word with him."

"Nikolai Dolohov," Snape responds easily. "And good luck having a word with him; that guy's dangerous."

Sirius snorts. "I'm a Black," he says, voice oddly bitter.

James chuckles at this. "Come on, it's late. Let's go to bed." He hesitates for a second before throwing out, "'Night, slime ball." (The insult barely has teeth.)


	16. Comfort (only if for a while)

I don't like this one. It's almost unbearably cheesy, and I may have gone overboard with the 'sensory imagery.'

* * *

Towards the end of winter, Lily finds Snape in the Owlery, head buried in his arms, crying.

She's utterly gobsmacked.

After all, Snape has proved himself capable of many things (sucking up to the professors like there's no tomorrow, training owls, tutoring Alice, getting his arse handed to him by Alice) but not crying, not like the rest of them.

Lily is eternally grateful that her surprise does not slip off her tongue. Instead, she sits down next to him, and asks, voice feather light, "What's wrong, Sev?"

She begins to absorb the small details: the yellow-white envelope clutched in one of his hands, the way his hair hides his eyes, the small sobs wracking his narrow frame.

She touches him lightly on the shoulder, and he flinches, his head raising, something in his (red rimmed and surprisingly dry) eyes reminds her of a cornered animal.

They remain like that—staring at each other, his eyes wild, hers cautious—before he relaxes and the tension melts out of his stance. Then a smile cracks stiffly across his face, and he replies, "Oh, nothing."

Lily laughs at this. "Sev, I don't know about you, but most people cry for a reason."

The smile he wears softens at this, but he remains stubbornly silent. She nudges him, and says softly, "You can tell me anything. Come on. You know that."

He's utterly still for a couple seconds, staring at the empty space beside her head. Then anything gentle about his smile drains away, and Lily is struck by the realization that she has never seen a bleaker expression. He hands her the envelope wordlessly; his fingers clenched white.

Curious, she opens it, and pulls out a half sheet of lined paper. The words scribbled across it are careless and messy, scrawled without a second thought.

It reads: _Don't come home. _

The first thing Lily absorbs is the frostiness of the situation. There's no Howler for Sev, no infuriated words or panicked lectures. Anger implies love, after all, and is one of the furthest things from cold indifference.

This explains everything, she realizes. The emptiness of his house, the shabbiness of his clothes, the way he wields sarcasm like a battered and broken shield. He must have been raised by nothing but complete and utter disregard, tempered every now and then with flashes of frigid fury.

The next thing Lily grasps is the gravity of all this. (Later, she's quite impressed with herself. Come on. She can wax poetic about her best friend's childhood without understanding what's going on. Quite awe inspiring, if you ask her.) She feels her eyes stretch open in shock.

"What?" She turns the half sheet of paper over in her hands. Surely, she misread. Right? She scans it again, eyes taking in the same three impossibly cold words.

"Where are you going to live?" she demands. As soon as the words leave her mouth, she regrets them. They're unnaturally heavy, lingering in the silence when they should have dissipated.

He inhales slowly, eyes closed, looking strangely brave, for some obscure reason.

"I'll be fine." His voice is calm.

"What do you mean 'I'll be fine.' In case you haven't noticed, you're bloody twelve!" Lily jumps to her feet, feeling the worry burning in the backs of her eyes. Then her nose scrunches, and she tilts her head slightly.

"Sorry. That sounded a great deal less awful in my head. Do you want to live with me? I could arrange that. I think. I mean-"

He cuts her off gently. "It's okay. I've wanted to get out of that house for ages."

He springs lightly to his feet, and Lily notices how genuine his smile is (there is an entire patch of sincerity in the gap between his front teeth.)

"I'll be fine," he repeats, more to himself than anything. Lily scrunches her nose—it has never registered until now how bloody _mad_ her best friend is.

He flings open the door to the Owlery, giggling a little. "I'll be so, so fine."


End file.
